A Very Long Visit Indeed
by zlataa
Summary: A strange girl wanders into the life of Hannibal Lecter, takes place after Hannibal. In progress. R&R please! rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

The last thing she remembered was running. Running, fast. Looking back over her shoulder every once in a while, half-scared of what she would see. Breathing hard, panting. Her labored breath coming out in frozen clouds before her. A cramp tearing at her insides, she ran on. So, so cold. Her vision became unfocused. It appeared that she was approaching the outskirts of a town. The ground spun, she began to stagger, lose her footing and finally collapse into a snowy ditch, blacking out.

A black supercharged Jaguar drives leisurely along, its occupant rather pleased of his recent purchases of a certain set of crystal glasses, which he has been searching for determinedly lately. Suddenly it slows to a stop. It stands still for a few seconds. A man sporting a long knit trench coat climbs out and leaves his engine running. As he opens the door, a wave of Scarlatti can be heard from inside. He descends down the steep side of a ditch and approaches the huddled mass of clothing cautiously. He crouches down next to the unconscious being and, judging by the long, brown hair and delicate fingers, learns that she is a woman. Gently, with a black-gloved hand, he brushes the icy hair aside to reveal frozen eyelashes closed over eyes, and a slightly parted mouth framed with blue lips. The man presses two fingers into her neck, feeling a pulse, but just barely. Glancing around him briefly, he scoops her up in his arms as easily as if he had scooped up bubbles from a bath, and trudges through the deep snow to his humming car.


	2. Chapter 2

She slowly was lifted to semi-consciousness, her eyes shut, and the first thing that greeted her was horrible pain

She slowly was lifted to semi-consciousness, her eyes shut, and the first thing that greeted her was horrible pain. It was almost impossible to endure. She was surely on fire! She tried in vain to roll over to extinguish the flames, but found solid walls restricting her to do so. She was trapped in a pit of fire.

She screamed out loud, and yelled. "Help! Please, I'm on fire! Someone, help! I'm on fire, I'm on fire!!" She tried to thrash about, but a firm hand held her still. Someone was here to save her! "Hello? Help me, I'm on fire!" A calm, deep voice reassured her, "I swear it's only lukewarm." She felt slightly puzzled by this odd response, as she was clearly on fire. This pain could not be anything else. She opened her eyes slightly, and saw the outline of a person sitting next to her, concentrating on something in his hands.

"Who are you?" she asked groggily. The person did not answer her, merely raised their eyes to her face, all the while continuing whatever he was doing with his hands. She felt herself losing vision again, and the last thing she saw was two red pin-points before she slumped against the hard walls into unconsciousness again.

For a moment, for one horrid moment, she thought she had awakened in the cold, depressing room that she had lived in for so long. But as she became more awake and alert, she realized she was not at all in that despised room. She awoke, in fact, in a large and comfortable bed, in a beautifully decorated room with French doors open to a balcony, which cast rays of morning sunshine onto the foot of her bed. She sat up quickly, but collapsed back into her soft pillows with a gasp. Clutching her rib, she winced in pain. She noticed that she was bundled in many warm duvets, over her worn gray dress that was her clothing for as long as she could remember.

More slowly, she raised herself up to a sitting position, and her first thought was of course, "Where am I?" but she couldn't help admiring the warm colors that frescoed the walls of the room. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand, but a sharp pain shot up her leg all the way to her hip. She examined her ankle and found it swollen and bandaged. She gingerly lowered her foot to the floor and stood up, ignoring the pain. Limping slightly, she found the regular rhythm of walking. The door already slightly ajar, she pushed it open and was immediately overcome by a wave of the most deliciously smelling food she had ever smelled. It warmed her lungs and the entire inside of her body.

She walked along a large, nicely lit hallway and came to a staircase, from which the smell seemed to waft from. She descended the slightly curved staircase as quietly as she could, the smell becoming stronger, and came to a living room. The house was very tastefully decorated, with a high ceiling, antique furnishings and an air of finesse. She wished to stay and examine the room more closely, but she was afraid of someone catching and scolding her about being in their living room. So she moved on, the smell becoming still more powerful.

The living room opened up to the kitchen, where stood a man of about thirty-nine with his back to her, humming lightly, evidently cooking something. She quickly hid behind a corner before she was seen. A million questions racing through her mind, something suddenly caught her eye. She walked slowly towards it. On a table lay a small, pencil and charcoal sketch of a beautiful little girl, with soft-looking cheeks and short, curly blond hair. She bent down to look at it more closely.

"Good morning."

A calm, gentlemanly voice addressed her from behind. She jumped a little and spun around, taking in the sight of the man. He was an average height, slender, wore a slight smile that frightened some, bringing out a scar on his left cheek in the form of a dimple. He sported tidy, nicely cut dark brown hair, slicked back at the moment, and something odd; his irises were a shade of maroon, with red pin-points in the centers of the pupils. The maroon eyes watched her with a sense of amusement behind them. "I-I'm sorry, I was just-" She began, gesturing to the table. "Don't apologize," he said. "It is a natural instinct to be curious. How are you feeling?" His eyes left her face and drifted towards the bandage on her ankle, taking in the rest of her on their way down.

"I-well, my ankle and my ri-" She paused. "I'm sorry, but…who are you?" she asked. The man seemed to consider her for a minute before answering. "My name is Hannibal Lecter. Or, if you wish, more commonly referred to as Dr. Lecter. You may have heard of me?" He cocked an eyebrow, still maintaining his smile. She racked her brains for the name. A slight twinge of memory came to her. "I think…I saw you in the newspapers once." She recalled. Dr. Lecter chuckled quietly to himself. "Yes, I daresay you have. Are you hungry?"


	3. Chapter 3

Well, now that I have divulged my identity to you, would you permit me to ask what your name is

"Well, now that I have divulged my identity to you, would you permit me to ask your name?" The two of them sat across from one another on opposite heads of a large dinner table.

"Katy Opiela."

"_Katy Opiela…_you are Polish?"

"Yes. My mother and I moved to the United States after my father died."

"In the war?"  
Katy nodded. "My mother became very sick and died when I was six. I was moved to an orphanage in Maine. I ran away, and when I was fourteen, I was kidnapped by some men who ran a…business. They gave us food and shelter in exchange for selling ourselves to strange men.

"A few women and I, we managed to run away a couple of months ago. I lived on the street, stealing food and wallets." Hannibal noticed her eyes had gotten shiny. "I don't even know why I'm telling you all this, I just-" she stopped and looked down at her plate, holding half an omelet and two strips of bacon. A small silence followed, only broken by the soft clink of silverware.

Katy composed herself and continued. "I forgot to thank you for saving me." She paused. "Dr…Lecter, how – what happened to me?"

He looked up from his plate. Dr. Lecter noticed her dress was extremely, perhaps vulgarly low-cut, the preference of the men she mentioned, he guessed.

"I was returning from a pleasant afternoon's shopping, and you were lying unconscious on the side of the road. I brought you here, and learned that you had contracted hypothermia, as well as a sprained ankle.

"I gave you a bath to circulate your blood flow, a shot of antibiotics, and put you to rest. I'm sorry to say I could not warn you about soreness in the morning."

Everything came back. The running, the cold. She was running from the man she stole the wallet from. _I swear it's only lukewarm._ It was not a fire at all. It was water. And those walls… a tub. Of course. The thing in his hands was a rag, he was rubbing her arms to warm the blood.

A clatter of dishes brought her back to the present. Dr. Lecter was collecting the dirty dishes among the table. She stood and reached for a fork, but his elegant, long-fingered hand brushed hers away. Oddly, she felt a slight shiver at his touch. Dr. Lecter impossibly seemed to notice this, and without turning his head, glanced at her with a ghost of a smile.

"No, no, you are the guest. If you wish to explore my home, you are free to do so. But of course, if you are still fatigued, you may retire to your bedroom. May I ask that you not enter the room adjacent to the upstairs washroom."

"Thank you for…everything." She felt her face warm slightly. Hannibal bowed slightly, courteously from the waist, never breaking eye contact, then retreated to the kitchen.

Katy slowly made her way back to the bedroom. Stopping to observe artwork on the walls, she felt as if she were in a museum. But yet she didn't. The large house had more…substance than a museum. She couldn't quite place it. It wasn't warmth…just a feeling of general good nature and cleanliness. And taste. Oh my, yes. Yet somehow she felt uncomfortable standing in this vast living room alone, so she did not stay long. Stopping again only to touch the frame of the pencil and charcoal drawing with her index finger gently, she climbed the staircase and closed the door behind her as she entered the bedroom.

Hannibal Lecter watched her, standing still in the open kitchen entrance.

In spite of himself, Hannibal cannot help admiring the way how the precise length of the stems of flowers in the vases (that he cut himself) compliments the shape and space of the room. Every surface, color and object seems to blend together in a most intriguing fashion. He is fascinated by different sizes, light and shadow playing together. He enjoys color, and dislikes the homes which are inhabited by lifeless white walls. It reminds him of barracks.

He silently stands in place, hands at his sides, watching as this Katy Opiela climbs his elegant curved staircase, taking in the art on the way up. He ponders her as his eyes linger on the spot where the bottom of her dress flutters around the corner and out of sight.


	4. Chapter 4

Later in the early afternoon, Katy heard a rustle near the door

Later, in the early afternoon, Katy heard a rustle near the door. She saw an envelope had been slid halfway under the door. Curious, she walked to it and picked it up. Her name was on the back in a perfect copperplate. _Ms. Opiela._ She ripped the top off and pulled the small note out. Unfolding and flattening its neat creases, it read:

_Ms. Opiela,_

_I shall be absent for a small amount of time, as I will be going to the market. I _trust_ you know your way to the bathroom, as it is across the hall from your own room. If you are hungry, there is lunch on the dining room table. If you wish to change your clothes, you may inspect the closet in your bedroom. But you do not have to if you do not like. I have placed a toothbrush and a towel in the bathroom for your convenience. Have a pleasant afternoon!_

_Dr. Hannibal Lecter_

Was he taunting her with the bathroom comment? This Dr. Lecter was a curious character. But he certainly had manners. _Like her father, _she thought.

She did not recall much of her father, but she did have shards of memory. She remembered her father dancing with her in the living room as her mother played the piano.

_He picked her up effortlessly and spun her in a circle. She held her arms out, feeling like a bird._

He sang her a song, one of the things she clearly remembered.

_Ein Mannlein steht im Walde ganz still und stumm, _

_Es hat von lauter Purpur ein Mantlein um,_

_Sagt, wer mag das Mannlein sein_

_Das da steht im Walde allein_

_Mit dem purporroten Mantelein _

She remembered her mother telling her the song was from Germany, a place which was not safe at the moment. She did not understand why, but she did not care either. Not much matters much to a four-year-old girl. She remembered her father teaching her to read, and the first thing she spelled was _"papa"_. She almost felt the scratchy, whiskery kisses he used to plant on her cheek and forehead.

"_Papa,"_ she murmured out loud. She opened her eyes and found her arms out to her sides like when she was a child. She withdrew them and stood from the bed to brush her teeth.

Hannibal stands waiting outside the guest bedroom door. He sees the envelope withdraw under the door, yet he does not move. Only when he hears the satisfying rip of paper does he quietly remove himself from the upper floor and cross the living room. On his way he pauses to ponder the charcoal drawing of Mischa that he had seen the girl looking at. He has no pictures of Mischa, they had all been burned by the Nazis. He had drawn this from memory alone. _Ohh, Anniba!_

As he drove along, he could still smell faintly the lingering scent of the girl. He pictured her face in his mind, and wondered, for his own amusement, whether the length of her nose matched accordingly to the width of her lips. He decided that it was not perfect, maybe a quarter centimeter off. At last, he arrived at his destination, a block or two entirely occupied by shops. He parked perfectly, the tires of his old Chevrolet truck two inches each away from the curb, and set the parking meter. He felt the gust of cold and fastened his coat more securely around his neck, and he was off, walking at a light pace on the beaten down snowy sidewalks.

He turned into a food market he favored, namely for their access to black truffles. He decided he would make a larger, more extravagant dinner that evening, to mark the first conscious night at his home by Katy Opiela. He first walked to the meats section, wondering what his first course would be. He decided on Duck à l'Orange. Choosing a nice big duck, freshly plucked, he moved next to the fruits and vegetables. A fair amount of oranges, a couple of lemons, some black truffles. Along the way he picked out some fragrant spices, some caper berries. Weaving lightly through passersby on the sidewalk with brown grocery bags in hand, a liquor store. Approaching now the cashier.  
"Excuse me, do you carry Château d'Yquem wine?

The knobs squeaked slightly as hot water gushed out of the tap.  
Katy, wrapped in a towel, settled herself for a bath. Seeing as she was alone, she decided that a bath would do her sore body good. She gingerly removed the pink medical gauze around her ankle and for the first time in a long time, she raised her face to the mirror.  
How old she looked.  
Her face, so tired and lacking blood, her hair, lanky and dry from being frozen. She looked away from herself. Remembering the once lively glow of her skin, the brightness of her eyes. Now, now…she looked _used._  
Scanning instead the counter below the mirror, registering the scented bath products. She picked up a jar filled with dissolving crystals scented with lavender. The rest of the counter filled with creams, crystals, lotions. Even a container with fresh oranges and lemons.  
Katy had always loved the scent of lavender, since she was a little girl. She remembered walking down to the river with her father to watch him fish, through the field filled with lavender. She would pick bouquets of it, and her father would put them in her hair. She loved to watch her father fish. Once, he had let her try, and she had caught one, albeit a small one. She had named it "Finny" and had begged her father to let her keep it. He explained to her gently how the fish had its own family to go home to. Eventually she released it into the river with a hearty throw and a light feeling in her heart. After that she preferred to watch.  
She was brought back from her memories by the splashing of water on water. What was it about this house, that kept her remembering? She hurried to turn off the tap, the tub a little more than three quarters full. She sprinkled some crystals into the water, and immediately the fragrance enveloped the room. She let her towel drop and lowered herself slowly into the tub, feeling her pores opening, leaning back against one side and closed her eyes, inhaled deeply and simulated in her mind running through the purple flowers beside the river.  
_"Papa, we're going to get a _big_ one today, aren't we?" This was the question she asked at the beginning of every fishing trip.  
"The biggest in the entire river!" was always his response. She trotted after him in the fields, clumsily carrying one of his fishing rods and a bag of leftover bread from dinner. Her job was to roll the balls of bread for bait. She was proud of every single ball that caught a fish.  
Now she was at the river. "Papa, Papa! I have one! What do I do?"  
"You can do it. Slowly turn the handle. Slowly. Tug on the rod. You almost have it," he encouraged, as the line stretched taut. Eventually the small fish came flailing out of the water, a mess of grass, dirt and glittery scales in the sunlight. Despite the mud, she lovingly hugged the fish in both her arms, straining to keep its thrashing wet tail away from her face. "Papa, I did it!"  
"Wonderful, Katy! I'm so proud of you." He ruffled her hair and pulled her and the fish into a hug. Later, a picture was taken with Katy and the fish, before she released it. She did not know where it was now, probably lost in the war, along with all her other family photos. And family._  
She opened her eyes. Reminded of terrible dreams. She could not help it, a small tear escaped her right eye as she pictured her mother's kindly, loving face and her father's whiskery kisses.  
_Mit dem purporroten Mantelein.  
_She wiped it away quickly with her wet hand, in turn making her right cheek shine with scented bathwater.

To busy her mind, she took a loofa from beside the tub and pumped soap into it, lathering up her skin with rich white suds. The curtain of softness draped her like an evening coat. She worked from her legs to her chest, then submerged her body again to wash away the soap. Her limbs came out shining with water and she felt the satisfying squeaky traction of her finger against her skin as she ran it along. Next, she washed her hair with the available shampoo and conditioner. After she rinsed in the bathwater, she sat still for a while. Sat still to see how long it would take for the bathwater to become completely still. It was about ten minutes before the water became a glassy sheet with the occasional cluster of soap suds floating along.

The slightest stir of water, but a stir nonetheless. Created from the thud of a closing door.  
Dr. Lecter was back.  
She removed herself from the tub, arranged a towel for herself to step on as she climbed out. She reached down to remove the plug and wished the gurgle of the drain was not so loud. Surely he could hear it from downstairs. He would not scold her for taking a bath, she knew, but she still felt a little uncomfortable about taking a bath in another's home. She grabbed a bottle of body lotion, and immediately felt the cool, pleasant rush of a mint scent as she spread it across her chest, arms, legs, face. Her golden brown hair, she twisted up into a towel. With the floor towel, not wanting to make a mess in the pristine bathroom, instead she used it to wrap around her body.

Looking into the mirror again, she was pleased to see that the steam from the bath had given her cheeks back their original peachy glow.  
One hand on the knot in her towel on her chest, the other on the doorknob, she poked her head out into the hall. No sign of anyone. She quietly tiptoed across to "her" bedroom.

Back at the Chesapeake house.  
Setting the groceries on the counter, no sign of Katy. Taking out the wine, the truffles. He wonders what she had done during his absence. He holds the bottle up to the bright kitchen lights. Slight sediment. Setting it back down gently. Perhaps she was sleeping? Removing now the oranges, the duck. All of his supplies.  
Checking the time. 5:13. Plenty of time to prepare dinner. He decides it is also time to give Katy her shot.  
He makes a brief stop in his room to retrieve the needle, flicks the tip once or twice, knock knock on Katy's door.  
The door opening now, and Katy in his sight, wearing a towel. _Ah, a bath,_ he thought. Beads of water still stood on her chest, quivering as she breathed. His nostrils flared slightly as he took in the pleasant scents of lavender and mint that came with her. He couldn't help noticing the brilliant shade of blue that were her irises.  
"Good afternoon, Ms. Opiela. I hope I am not intruding?"  
"No, of course not, Dr. Lecter."  
He held up the needle. "Kindly hold out your forearm. I trust you had a pleasant afternoon?"  
His touch on her arm sent another shiver down her back. This time, Dr. Lecter looked her full on in the eyes as he gently inserted the tip of the needle into a vein in the soft skin of her forearm. She took a small, sharp intake of breath, but the reason was not the pain of the needle. She hoped he did not notice.  
"Yes, thank you." Dr. Lecter saw in his peripheral vision a bead of water merge with another and, with their combined weight, roll off into the depths of her cleavage. He returned his full attention to her blue eyes as he removed the needle and pressed a cotton swab to the small bead of blood blooming from the hole.  
"Dr. Lecter?"  
"Yes?"  
"Where am I?"  
"I'm afraid I cannot disclose that information at this point, Ms. Opiela. Perhaps in due course. But I will inform you that you may stay as long as you like."  
"Thank you. I understand."  
Dr. Lecter began to make his way to the door.  
"Dr. Lecter?" He turned his sleek head toward her.  
"Do you…dream?"  
A beat. Flash of dirty teeth and birdskin.

"No."  
"Thank you."

With an inclination of his head, he opened the door behind him. "In due course, Ms. Opiela."  
Then he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Hannibal stands in the kitchen, busying himself with pans and ingredients. He is slicing oranges and grating the zest. A plucked duck sits in a roast dish, legs wound with string tied by surgical knots. There is music, Bach in the background. Hannibal's hands work the knife, almost as if they are dancing to the music on their own accord. He is pondering the thought of storing Katy Opiela in his memory palace. Is she of use to him, really? He could store the running bead of water on her chest for amusement. He has not decided yet.  
He thinks it odd that she would ask such a bold question. _Do you dream…_ She is certainly outgoing. His mind flashed suddenly to Clarice Starling running in the woods, _the deer jumping, the little deer's skull knocking against the sides of Mischa's tub-_  
His finger feels warm and sticky. He looks down. The serrated edge of the knife has dug into his thumb as he peels an orange. The fruit's acidity leaks into the wound. He shows no indication of pain. Instead, he walks to the sink calmly and runs his thumb under a stream of cold water. After applying a bandage, he is back to work, erasing Clarice Starling's image from his mind. He had not heard from her after she had left him for Washington. He returned to his rented Chesapeake house from Albania, as the place would only remind him of her. He tries to erase most of her from his memory palace, but some shards of memory, like tar, stick to the walls of the abandoned rooms and refuse to be evacuated.  
He wonders fleetingly why the thought of Katy brought up this particular memory he used to favor of Starling. Adding the orange rinds now to the duck cavities. His pan sizzles over a burner with Grand Marnier and duck stock. He pours freshly squeezed orange juice into the sauce pan, and the fragrance rises. He drops in only a few caper berries for good measure. Unorthodox, but satisfying. Is it perhaps that Katy somehow reminds him of Mischa, as Clarice was the perfect place for Mischa? He thought of teacups. If the teacups could not bring back Mischa, _babyteethinastoolpit, _could they bring back Clarice? No, Clarice is gone. He shook her from his mind.

Katy upstairs. In the guest bedroom, she opens her closet for the first time, remembering the note from Dr. Lecter. Her eyes grew wider as she rifled through the suit bags. She takes a long bag off a hanger and opens it. A beautiful sleeveless silk dinner gown, with a slight décolleté and tailored at the waist. She removed the housecoat supplied in the bathroom and slips the dress on over her underwear. It felt wonderful. She gathered her hair and pinned it up with a jeweled hair accessory put for her on the nightstand.

Moving to the bathroom, she regarded herself in the mirror and smiled. She was not wearing vulgarly cut rags, nor smeared black eyeliner. Her clean, natural face and the off-white of her dress, her now shining hair up off her shoulders, she looked better than she had in years.

_  
_


	6. Chapter 6

Hannibal is setting the placemats on the table, and adds a centerpiece of a combination of Irises, Gladioli, Orchids, and Bell

Hannibal is setting the placemats on the table, and adds a centerpiece of a combination of irises, gladioli, orchids, and bells of Ireland flowers. He would have used a different combination, but he did not want to intimidate her by setting such an intimate atmosphere. The theme for tonight's dinner was welcoming and whimsical. Yet, there was an air of certain intimacy nevertheless, judging by the formality of the food and the romantic lighting of the dining room.  
And, as Hannibal Lecter very well knows, lighting is everything.  
He is dressed in a tasteful crisp white button down shirt and black pants that fasten at his waist with a black belt, and as our eyes travel farther down, the outfit is completed with Italian brown leather shoes.  
He is now placing the recently purchased crystal wine glasses next to his fine china plates, wondering if Katy has sported the dress yet. The evening altogether reminds him of the night he and Clarice spent together with Paul Krendler. His mouth curls into a reminiscent smile.

He had bought a dress resembling the one he had presented to Clarice, those many years ago. It seemed fitting for a reason yet unbeknownst to him that he should attempt to recreate this evening as it had happened with Clarice.  
The duck was prepared. He decided that he would not, however, give Katy an injection before dinner, as he had with Clarice. He wanted her mind free and unclouded, uncontrolled. This decision, however, makes his ultimate goal all the more difficult. Only when one's mind is inebriated can one truly plumb the depths of the other's mind, without the obstacles of conscious thought. This will be exceptionally difficult tonight, seeing as, unlike Clarice, Katy has not met with Hannibal Lecter on a number of occasions, has not adjusted to his unique, subtly probing nature. This fact, in turn, will keep her guard up and make it ever more solid. What reason does she have to trust him, thus far? He has not told her the whereabouts of the house. He has given her his name, but she barely recalls what it was for that Hannibal Lecter appeared in the newspaper. She was not brought up in a cozy home with a television and news channels. She had no idea who, or rather what he was. For all she knew, he could be a madman. He chuckled at that thought.  
But he will change all that tonight, he thought.  
Hannibal climbed the staircase to alert Katy that dinner was ready. He stopped outside and raised his index finger. Softly, he knocked twice with his knuckle. Six seconds passed, then the doorknob turned and there she was. For a moment he was speechless. She looked devine. Possibly even more so than Clarice in that fine cream gown. Here was another event this evening had in common, he thought to himself. Both women made him unable to speak.  
He saw how her dress flattered her body, how it clung in some places and flowed out in others. It was not a complicated dress, with many patterns and gathers and so on. It was merely a simple dinner dress, but he ponders if the simplicity of the dress brings out the extravagance of her features. Her expression itself seemed different. He guessed that the bath had done her a world of good. Her hair shimmered over her shoulders, over that creamy skin, and bright eyes stared into his with slight puzzlement behind them.  
During that speechless moment, his heart skipped a beat, but only for a split second. He examined all this in the space of a second, but he soon regained his control over his body in moments.  
"Dinner is ready, Ms. Opiela. If you wish a few more moments to yourself, I shall be waiting."  
"Thank you, Dr. Lecter."  
He inclined his head and made his way back down the stairs, into the living room.

Hannibal stood in front of the fireplace, thinking. He decided to walk through his memory palace. Closing his eyes, he enters his majestic creation.  
_Hannibal walks leisurely down a wide, colorful hallway, finally deciding to dedicate a vacant room to Katy Opiela. He finds a suitable room upstairs, in a sunny corridor, with big windows letting in rays of light. He chooses to store the bead of water and the image of her in the dinner dress, during that time-freezing second. A fine room it is too, one that he foresees visiting many times in the future. He leaves the room, only to happen across Clarice Starling's room, which he stored in the same corridor. He finds that he should attempt to erase the memories inside the room. He enters, and sees a lamb asleep on the floor. The memory of the running Starling is embodied in that lamb. This is the memory hardest to erase. He finds himself watching it. She runs lightly, not fighting the ground, her hair bouncing with every step. A deer is near his sitting spot. The image of the deer in the woods flickers, and suddenly he is not in Clarice's room anymore. He is in the basement, the cellar. A small scrawny deer trembles as it attempts to fight the men bringing it into the shed. Dr. Lecter…The scene changes to the deer skull bubbling in the bathtub, knocking against the edges. Mischa's teeth inside the tub. He can't bear it anymore. Dr. Lecter… Mischa being swung out the shed door by her wrists. No…please, not this… "Anniba!" NO!  
_"Dr. Lecter…?" Hannibal is brought back to the present by a gentle touch on his shoulder. He turns and sees the slightly concerned face of Katy. The touch registers as a glint in his eyes. "Are…are you alright?"

"Fine, thank you. Shall we?" he gestures to the dining room. She nods and they make their way together.


End file.
